


Daisy and Logan

by wheel_pen



Series: Miscellaneous X-Men First Class Stories [3]
Category: Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Daisy (wheel_pen), Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: Daisy steps in to help Laura get safely to the border, and fixes it so nobody dies! (Nobody good, anyway.)





	Daisy and Logan

**Author's Note:**

> Daisy is my original character. She first appeared in my Vampire Diaries stories, but also pops up other places.  
> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Charles was in the car, Caliban was nowhere to be seen, and Logan was not wasting time going back inside for that kid. He really didn’t want any part of her, especially if she didn’t have sense enough to pay attention to him and come out on her own.

The line of heavy trucks trailed onto the property—a convoy, of mercenaries if not actual soldiers—and Logan felt the chill of adrenaline in his stomach. They would get out of here, because it wasn’t in his nature to give up. But it wouldn’t be pretty.

Pierce, the blond, obnoxious man Logan had tried to get rid of once already, reappeared, looking hale and hearty. Was he a mutant with healing properties? Logan knew he should’ve put a bullet, or claw, through his head while he had the chance.

“Where’s Caliban?” Logan demanded.

“I dumped him in the same ditch he was planning to dump me in,” Pierce drawled. That made things both harder and easier for Logan, in a way he no longer had the energy to feel guilty about. “So where’s the girl?” Pierce repeated. “Come on, bring her out.”

Logan wanted to say she was still inside, and Pierce was welcome to her if he just let him and Charles drive off. But he doubted Pierce would keep any sort of bargain. And Charles would flip out. And Logan didn’t want to see a sleazeball like Pierce win.

“There’s really no need for violence,” said a calm voice, which Logan vaguely recognized.

“There frequently is,” he countered belligerently, squinting at the person who had stepped out of Pierce’s truck.

It was like seeing a ghost, or a walking memory, one from a very long time ago. Some mutants aged slowly, but she really hadn’t changed a day since Logan last saw her—smooth dark skin, early twenties (obnoxiously young!), that Mona Lisa smile playing on her lips like she found all of them mildly amusing, on a dull day.

Logan did not know her very well. But he knew enough to know that if Daisy was working for Pierce, the rest of them were screwed.

“Hello, Logan,” she greeted. “Nice to see you again.” As if this wasn’t just about the end of the world.

“Daisy,” he acknowledged, to prove he remembered. “You’re working for him?”

“Mr. Pierce had such an interesting story to tell me,” she replied lightly. “I just couldn’t resist participating.”

“Well if you’re acquainted with this little lady,” Pierce interjected, intrusively, “then you know there’s no point in trying to fight. I never felt so relaxed before! Better than a massage.”

“Hello, Charles,” Daisy continued, walking up to the car. The rest of their conversation was conducted silently.

Logan tried to remember what Daisy could do, and what options it left him. He didn’t know if she was a mutant or something else—what else was there, probably anything and everything—but she had a way of manipulating people into doing her bidding. No fancy energy blasts or psychic flourishes, you just found yourself very calmly going along with what she said, even if you were consciously thinking you didn’t want to, with the anger and will draining out of you every second. As superpowers went, it didn’t seem very impressive, but it certainly got her through life well enough.

“The girl is inside,” Daisy reported. “I’ll go get her. I’ll take three of your people with me.” The muscle-bound men, armed to the teeth, were already advancing carefully on the dingy warehouse.

“Thought you could handle any problem yourself,” Pierce replied, his tone almost teasing. He and Logan stayed by their open car doors, almost as if they really wanted to.

“A girl has to be careful,” Daisy told him with a shrug, following the men inside. Her influence receded with her.

Inside the warehouse, Daisy let the men fan out, do whatever they would have done if she wasn’t there and they were assigned to capture this runaway. Boldly Laura didn’t hide from them, but kept eating her cereal with the alertness of a practiced survivor. When the men drew too close, however, she leapt into action, claws springing from her fists to slash and hack, guns and bones severed cleanly by her balletic, lethal grace. Daisy stood back to watch.

When the third man had been painfully dispatched, the girl turned her vibrant gaze on Daisy, wondering what to make of her. “Laura, I’m Daisy,” she introduced calmly. Rage thrummed through the girl’s small body, ebbing under Daisy’s influence and adding to Daisy’s own store of energy. “You seem like a girl who can take care of herself.”

“Si,” Laura acknowledged after a long moment, confused by whatever was happening.

“You have someplace you need to be, and I can help you get there,” Daisy continued. She spoke matter-of-factly, letting Laura decide. “We should probably pick up Charles and Logan on the way. I suspect they need our help now.”

A few moments later Daisy and Laura walked out of the warehouse, not quite hand-in-hand but definitely together. Logan was now on the ground with several guns pointed at him; they would’ve been able to hear the commotion inside the warehouse.

Pierce hooted obnoxiously. “What’d I tell you!” he demanded of no one in particular. “Told you she’d bring her out.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Daisy advised Laura, sensing her intense dislike for Pierce. Daisy could sympathize. “He won’t be here long.”

“Well done!” Pierce enthused when they approached. “Say, where’s my men?”

“They’re taking a break,” Daisy dismissed. “Help Logan up, please.”

“I don’t need help, I can get up fine,” Logan groused. As long as no one was throwing him down.

“And where’s Caliban?” Daisy asked of Pierce, the next item on her list.

“I told you, he’s—“ One of the trucks opened and Caliban climbed out, swathed in his hat and scarf against the sun, unsteady but alive. No one moved to stop him on his way to Logan’s car. “Now that ain’t fair,” Pierce complained, struggling to sound threatening. “You didn’t mention anything about wanting that old mutie. Besides, he used to belong to us, he’s a d—n good tracker and we’ve got some tracking to do—“

Daisy indicated to Caliban that he should get in the car with Charles, and Logan began to get the feeling there was something else going on here. There frequently was with Daisy. This feeling only intensified as the convoy of trucks began to drive away, leaving Pierce sputtering in surprise and alarm. The men around him seemed disinclined to do anything about it, and soon there were only a handful of them left.

Logan thought he could take a handful.

“What the f—k are you doing?!” Pierce demanded of Daisy. “Get my men back here!”

“Show them what you can do,” Daisy encouraged Laura, and stepped back into the safety of the car as she released everyone from her control.

Daisy didn’t regret the loss of life that followed. She had seen so much of humanity fly by, no more than ripples in the stream, and here at least were people who had chosen a life of violence, helping Pierce to round up and oppress whoever he ordered. It was important that Charles and Logan understand what Laura was capable of, what she had been bred and trained to do.

The toe claws were a nice touch, and oddly useful.

Pierce was the sort who saw which way the wind was blowing and put himself in the best position to survive—not a coward, just a pragmatist, who saw it was better to be inside a moving, armored vehicle while his men were shredded outside it. That didn’t mean he was running away either, just changing strategies, and before too long Daisy found herself being tossed around inside Logan’s car, trying to keep everyone stabilized and uninjured, while Logan dragged them around the yard, into surprisingly strong fences and across slippery sand.

“It won’t be too long before his men come back,” she warned. Her influence only reached so far.

“Oh, I should stop playin’ around then, huh?” Logan snapped sarcastically. He sped out across the desert, eyeing the approaching train. At the key moment he vaulted the car across the tracks, the train smashing his pursuer. Who was not Pierce, who stood there watching him from the other side of the mile-long train, recalculating this chase with terrible accuracy. Logan did not need to be encouraged to go.

“Who are you?” Caliban asked Daisy, when things had calmed down somewhat, and she introduced herself. “ _What_ are you?” he persisted, more to the point. “You’re not a mutant, I can tell.”

Daisy smiled a little at him. “No,” she agreed, with no intention of elaborating further. “Just an interested party.”

“Are you with Pierce?” Logan demanded. “Whose side are you on today?” He remembered she seemed to have a very fluid sense of morality.

“I _came_ with Pierce, to find you,” Daisy replied, stressing the distinction. “It seemed expedient. I’m prepared to see Laura safely to her destination.”

“How do you know about that?” Logan snapped at her. He barely comprehended it himself, some random coordinates in North Dakota, just short of the Canadian border.

“I hear things,” Daisy answered, maddeningly vague. “Some people I know are involved, and they asked me to help out.”

There were few in this world who did anything that wasn’t motivated by self-interest, and Daisy wasn’t one of them. Her motives were always complicated, though, which made them even more suspicious.

“Logan, I believe her,” Charles pleaded earnestly, and Logan rolled his eyes. There was no chance of dumping her while she had Charles in her corner. “She wants to help us.”

“Sure,” Logan bit off, clearly unconvinced, and concentrated on getting as far north as he could before they had to stop.

**

At the gas station the adults watched most of the video Gabriela had secretly recorded, while Laura rode on the mechanical pony. Logan was not surprised that people used mutant DNA, even _his_ DNA, to make children as weapons; that was the sort of thing people _did_ , in every era, when their ambition met money. Humanity was as it ever was, at least some segment of it. Charles Xavier had always felt these people were aberrations, not true representatives of humanity; Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto, assumed all humans would act that way if they could. With mutant births flatlining and even older mutants hard to find, Logan often had cause to wonder if Erik was right after all, and humanity had succeeded in wiping mutants out, just more quietly than predicted.

Only to revive them for their own ends.

And only to have it all go horribly wrong.

So predictable, really.

Logan could not afford the time or effort to be philosophical about it. He had to look after Charles while Caliban moped in the shade, then prevent Laura from slicing off the store clerk’s head when he caught her shoplifting.

“You can’t just take s—t,” he informed her gruffly, before helping himself to a phone charger and a cigar. “Why weren’t you watching her?” he snapped at Daisy, who had finally reappeared.

“I was taking care of other things,” she informed him calmly, kneeling down by the shocked clerk who still lay on the floor. “You’re going to forget all about this,” she told him, “because you hit your head.” Immediately he winced and grabbed his head. “It’s only a mild concussion, don’t worry,” she assured him. “Just lie back and close your eyes. No one will blame you.” With their witness thus temporarily disabled, she grabbed a shopping bag and headed down the nearest aisle, beginning to fill it.

“We don’t have time,” Logan barked at her, still holding a squirming Laura. “We gotta go.” Sometimes he felt like the only sane person here, which of course meant he was never listened to.

“If we’re going to be stealing anyway,” Daisy replied, with an irritating lack of stress, “we might as well get some supplies. Go on out to the car, I’ll be there.”

Logan was not going to wait for her, except of course he _was_ , except, infuriatingly, he didn’t have to, because Daisy appeared at the exact moment he had gotten everyone settled and was about to turn on the engine.

“Do you want me to drive?” she offered.

“Are you old enough?” he shot back, not relinquishing the wheel.

She smirked. “Funny, you weren’t worried about that earlier.”

‘Earlier’ was quite a few years ago, and things got jumbled up easily in his mind. But he did remember she had a thing for surly mutant cage-fighters, and had made some cold nights warmer.

Then he’d heard she’d hooked up with Magneto for a while, because her ‘thing’ was for bad boys in general, but come on, one had to have _standards_. Logan by no means had clean hands and a pure heart, but he hadn’t ever set out on a global plan to subjugate all humanity.

Some girls liked guys with ambition, he supposed.

Daisy cracked open a bottle of something and handed it to him. He was hoping it was alcohol but would settle for soda, and he nearly choked when he tasted it. “What the f—k—apple juice?!” he sputtered at her. He wanted to throw it out the window.

“You could use the sugar for energy, if you won’t take a rest,” Daisy informed him.

“I don’t drink f-----g— _organic apple juice_ ,” Logan insisted.

“I try to avoid the high fructose corn syrup made from that new GM corn,” Daisy mused, handing out snacks to the backseat. “I’ve heard some rumors about it.”

Logan snorted and resorted to drinking his apple juice, which _was_ actually rather tasty.

**

A busy resort and casino hotel in Oklahoma City seemed like a good place to stop for the night, a place where an odd group of five people who didn’t fit the usual mold stood out less.

“Come on, get back here,” prompted Logan from the elevator, to Laura who was staring at some mannequins in the display window of a shop just off the lobby.

“We do need some clothes,” Charles reminded him mildly.

“You three go up to the room,” Daisy suggested, as Caliban adjusted his protective veil. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of the clothes. Laura, would you help me?” Logan rolled his eyes and left them.

“Get me a hat!” Charles requested gleefully as the elevator doors closed.

“You see, everything has a price tag on it,” Daisy pointed out to Laura as they shopped. She spoke in Spanish, hoping that might decrease the chances of them being overheard. “That’s how much money we have to pay, to take something away with us. Taking without paying is stealing, and that’s wrong.” The girl had grown up in a laboratory with little socialization, there was a lot she didn’t know about society.

“We stole things before,” Laura pointed out, referring to the gas station.

“Yes, and that was wrong of us.” Well, Daisy didn’t personally care, but the more Laura understood about societal expectations, the less attention she would draw by breaking them. “Also, most people aren’t able to hurt you physically, in fact they usually avoid physical confrontation.” She was thinking of the gas station attendant, and also the store clerks around them. “So it’s important to not overreact, so you don’t hurt the wrong person.”

“What are you doing?” Laura wanted to know, when Daisy handed over her credit card to the cashier. She had also used it to secure the suite, after assuring Logan it couldn’t be traced.

“This card is how I pay for things,” Daisy explained. “It tells them who I am, so they can take money from my account.” More or less, Daisy didn’t think she needed to get into the whole economics of credit right now.

They went back up to the room, which was actually several rooms, and very nice. Daisy was not going to hide out in a dingy Motel 6. Nor did she intend to be Laura’s babysitter or Charles’s nursemaid; fortunately, Caliban had already thought of ordering room service so they could have a decent meal. Logan might be a survivor, but he was not terribly pragmatic sometimes.

**

“Where’s Caliban?” Logan demanded of Daisy the next morning, when he had to order his own room service breakfast. He did try to keep his voice down at least; Charles and Laura were eating in the next room and watching TV.

“He left in the night,” Daisy replied, which was clearly not the answer Logan was expecting. She tried to head off another fit of frustration that might result in broken furniture. “I advised him to. I thought he would have a better chance of escaping Pierce on his own. He used to help Pierce track mutants, you know.”

Logan couldn’t remember if he’d known that or not. Apparently he had, because it didn’t surprise him. He downed another mini-bar whiskey, a crucial part of breakfast. Sitting here with Daisy was… nice. Not that he was a fancy hotel suite kind of guy, and he knew any positive feelings were something she was projecting onto him, because he felt too awful to ever feel halfway good on his own. But the sensation was enjoyable, even if he knew it was only temporary.

“Why don’t you just take Laura to this magical meeting place, then,” he suggested, the words still coming out irritably. “I’ll split with Charles. You can even have the car”—beat up, full of bullet holes—“I’m going to get another one today.”

Daisy smirked at him. He hadn’t really thought he could shake her, or Laura, that easily. “I think we’re meant to proceed together,” she replied, in that vague, mystical, fortune-cookie way he hated.

“Well just so you know, that place isn’t real,” Logan warned her. He had snooped in Laura’s bookbag and discovered her comic book collection—the result of a regrettable move on Charles’s part, selling the rights to their adventures and likenesses, but his family fortune wasn’t going to last forever, not with as many times as the mansion had to be completely rebuilt. “It’s just something made up for a story.”

Daisy seemed interested in his discovery, so he retrieved the comic book in question and showed her the latitude-longitude coordinates that they were headed for, right there on a colorful panel below someone in an impractical skintight costume yelling, “POW!” as they punched someone. It was the place the story’s characters were traveling to as well.

“That’s quite a lot of verisimilitude for a comic book story,” Daisy mused thoughtfully. “Why give such specific coordinates? In the movies when they give a phone number, it’s always an obviously fake one. This place”—she tapped the panel delicately—“really exists.”

Logan could not wrap his head around what she was suggesting. “You think someone really lives at these coordinates? Like putting a real person’s address out there?”

Daisy shrugged unhelpfully, flipping through the rest of the comic book, which was several years old by this point. “We may find more there than we expect.”

Whatever. Logan stood, wincing like the old man he finally was—in retrospect it was pretty stupid to complain about eternal youth. “Did Charles tell you about the seizures?” he asked her, business-like.

“Yes.”

He indicated the dwindling bottle of pills. “Two of these every six hours should hopefully prevent them.” But their success rate wasn’t exactly one hundred percent. “If he starts to have one, a shot of this will stop it,” he went on, nodding at the other drug with its syringes. “But you probably won’t be able to move while he’s having a seizure, or even breathe.” He said this last part challengingly, wondering if her powers could deal with this.

“I’ll focus on prevention,” Daisy decided dryly, examining the label of the pill bottle with interest. She took a picture of it, and the syringe drug, with her phone, which was probably prudent if they ever had a chance to refill them.

“I’ll be back with the car soon,” Logan went on. “Be ready to move out then.”

**

Daisy texted him before he returned. _They’re coming_ , she warned. _Meet at west service entrance._ He pulled the new (old) truck up in the alleyway without spotting any of the feared convoy.

“Where are they?” Logan demanded, throwing Charles’s wheelchair in the bed of the truck.

“Down the road,” Daisy replied. “We should have time to get away without violence.”

If so, it would be a novel event for Logan. “Like you’re opposed to violence,” he muttered, and she smirked. “How’d they find us?” His mind immediately went to her credit card, though they probably would’ve come last night if that was the trigger.

“We don’t exactly blend in,” she pointed out with a shrug.

No use debating it any further; Logan got them on the road, heading north through some seriously featureless countryside. If Daisy could provide advance warning like that for them, that could be very useful. It occurred to him, briefly, to wonder if Daisy was still working with Pierce, leading him to the same location. But it didn’t seem right. Logan didn’t trust Daisy, but he did trust his own instincts, and they told him Daisy meant what she said about getting Laura to safety. Of course that left out a whole lot, such as how much she would support Logan and Charles, but Logan was used to being on his own there. Worst case—well, not really, so many things could go very badly here—Logan could do what he’d suggested and take Charles off, head for the coast and their dream of the boat. Not a _real_ dream (oxymoron as that was), more something he told Charles to keep him calm and pretend that they had a future worth looking forward to.

They got to Nebraska, which was a pointless state unless you wanted corn, which apparently people did. Driverless trucks hauled cargo past them on the highway, a sight both busy and desolate at the same time. Suddenly one of the automated vehicles swerved, nearly hitting the only other humans on the road, a truck drawing a horse trailer. They in turn swerved into Logan, who spent a long few seconds going the wrong way down the highway before he managed to pull off to safety. The other truck and trailer had pulled off, too, but the horses had broken out and were running across the highway in a panic.

“We should help them,” Charles insisted.

Logan did not think they had the capacity to help anyone, only to bring them more trouble. “Someone will come along,” he tried to dismiss, but Charles heard the hesitation in his tone.

“Someone _has_ come along,” he pointed out. Them.

Still, Logan could not make himself open his door. He didn’t wish those people ill, but he had more than enough work just looking after the people in his own truck.

Then, quite suddenly, the horses calmed down, and returned docilely to their trailer. It was slightly unnatural.

Logan glanced over at Daisy. “Is that you?” he wanted to know.

“I’m not much for animals,” she replied negatively, so he turned back to Charles. The elderly man had his eyes closed, concentrating hard. It was a small feat for what was once the world’s most powerful mind, but somehow it was a hopeful one.

Logan got out of the truck. “You need a hand?” he asked the other driver, indicating the truck lodged in the ditch.

Together they freed it. “Thanks so much for your help,” the woman in the group said. “I’m Kathryn Munson, and this is my husband Will and my son Nate.”

“James,” Logan replied vaguely. He’d been using the James Howlett alias—not really an alias—for a while now.

“Is that your daughter?” Kathryn asked, indicating Laura who was leaning against the truck. Charles waved enthusiastically.

“Uh, yeah,” Logan answered. “My daughter and my father, Chuck.” The lies came easily to him. But then he got to Daisy, who had also gotten out of the truck to stretch her legs, and his mind went blank. “She’s, uh…”

“I’m the bodyguard,” Daisy told them with a big smile, and everyone chuckled pleasantly, even though Logan had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

“Well, the least we can do to thank you is offer you a homecooked meal,” Kathryn went on, and Logan felt the panic build in him. This was exactly why he didn’t want to stop and help them, because it always led to more entanglements.

“No, we’re just—“ he started to say.

“That would be wonderful!” Charles overruled, with the cheerful obliviousness of one who always got his way. So then they were stuck.

“Is this _your_ doing?” Logan asked Daisy as they followed the Munson vehicle home.

“No,” she assured him. “I think they are just nice people.” She wasn’t smiling when she said this, though.

“Nice enough to invite four total strangers home for dinner?” he questioned. Did that kind of niceness still exist anymore?

“Oh, it gets worse,” Daisy replied. “They’ll probably insist we stay the night.”

Her prediction came true (not unusual for Daisy). Logan was too sick and weary to really relax or enjoy himself at dinner; but there was an ease, a warmth, in the Munson household that he hadn’t felt in a long time. They _were_ nice people. They gamely opened more cans of corn and peas, got some leftovers out of the fridge so there was more food on the table.

Charles blended right in, telling stories that rambled just enough to be charming (so Logan assumed from the reaction). Laura of course said nothing, and Daisy calmly guided her into using silverware and not completely stuffing food into her face like a ravenous beast—Logan hadn’t thought about her lack of table manners, that wasn’t really a big priority for him. But once Charles mentioned having run a “special needs” school (mutants were now a taboo subject), where Logan had been a pupil, it seemed logical that Laura also had some kind of _condition_ , and that Daisy was her caregiver. The Munsons would probably be too non-confrontational to ask.

Or maybe not: they were apparently beset by some sinister forces themselves, who periodically shut off their water, and Will Munson was willing to go out into the dark night and face them. Logan could hardly let him go alone.

“Just let me get my dad settled first,” he said, and carried Charles upstairs to the guest bedroom.

On the way back he cornered Daisy where he hoped they wouldn’t be overheard. “Staying here isn’t a good idea,” he opened brusquely.

“No,” she agreed, to his surprise. “Pierce will likely find us soon, and these people will be in danger.”

Logan was so stunned to find someone talking sense that he almost wasn’t sure what to say next. “We should leave now,” he tried, impractical though it was. Charles was too old and weak to be hauled around without rest.

Here Daisy gave him a contrary little smile. “Charles wanted Laura—and you—to see that there was still good in people,” she pointed out simply.

“And these people will pay for their goodness,” Logan responded darkly.

“As people often do,” Daisy remarked. She had seen much of the world and human history, and had consequently become even more cynical than Logan, if that was possible. “But I will do what I can to make sure they are safe,” she added.

Logan was still not sure how much that really was. “Should I stay here?” he asked.

“No,” Daisy advised. “Pierce is still some way off, and I think you can help Will Munson once again.” She frowned suddenly. “There is something coming,” she went on vaguely, but at least she seemed annoyed by the vagueness herself. “Something different.”

“Really don’t need anything different right now,” Logan commented, pointless though it was. Still, he felt reasonably certain Daisy could manage while he went off with Will Munson.

Daisy chatted with Kathryn and set her at ease, then checked on Charles and Laura—she was asleep on the floor at the foot of his bed, listening to an iPod that she hopefully hadn’t stolen. Let them get their rest while they could.

Daisy drifted out onto the porch. She had sensed Pierce coming closer—she wasn’t sure how he had tracked them, merely that the confrontation was inevitable. He had only two vehicles with him this time; she felt their hearts beating out there in the darkness, within sight of the farmhouse, but they weren’t closing in yet. Why the delay?

Then she felt _him_ , and she walked off the porch onto the dark lawn, right into his path, forcing him to a standstill in the moonlight. She reached out and laid her hand against his feverishly warm skin, and instantly knew everything she needed to know about him.

An adult clone of Logan. Given the same adamantium skeleton. Grown in a lab in a week. Dr. Rice’s newest creation.

The children had been unpredictable; it was laughable to think this creature was less so, but they did. And that would be their undoing.

Daisy stared into his eyes, lit blue by the moonlight. He stared back, barely moving, his muscles taut under his skin and his heart pounding. With one twitch his adamantium claws could slice her in half, and Daisy wasn’t sure even she could survive that. But he wouldn’t twitch.

His heart was filled with rage, and it was pure, clear, and deep like nothing Daisy had ever tasted before. She had met many wrathful beings, but their fury had the char of age—this nameless creature was too new to have known much else. In a medical, rather than poetic, sense, his brain cells had been engineered to produce certain neurotransmitters almost constantly, which elicited an adrenaline response, a sense of heightened alertness and anger.

Yet some sophistication had been employed; he was no brute beast, no mad dog to be unleashed on the enemy and then put down. He had intelligence, he could follow commands: in his other hand he held restraints—he was supposed to capture Laura and return her alive, while killing everyone else.

“You are so beautiful,” Daisy was moved to declare. She felt electric standing with him, feeding off his fury that was, for the moment, inexhaustible. Even with his healing factor his body could not take the stress forever; he would burn out in a few months, if kept conscious. Perhaps his keepers put him back in his box when they were done with him, slumbering unnaturally until the next crisis.

Such an incredible creature deserved to live free—well, within reasonable limits, where he couldn’t hurt anyone—and to experience other emotions of his own free will. The thought of guiding him excited Daisy like nothing had in a long time. _He_ was what she had sensed, his power calling out to her across the miles.

She would see to him soon. But she couldn’t get distracted just yet.

“Go for a run, two-point-five miles in a circle around this point,” Daisy instructed him. That would give her a few minutes to take care of things here. “Harm no one.”

His emotional range was understandably limited at present; he felt confusion at her presence, but her words were easy enough to follow, and he loved racing through the woods at night anyway, which he was rarely allowed to do. He sheathed his claws and took off, away from the house.

The men in the vehicles had been shouting something at him—“twenty-four,” was that really his name?—but their creation ignored them, and they didn’t emerge from the trucks as Daisy went back inside, resolute.

“Kathryn,” she said to her hostess, who had changed into a nightgown and bathrobe. Her tone was serious. “You were so kind to take us in. But there are dangerous people after us. I need to send you to safety now.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened, but she wasn’t truly surprised; she and her family had not welcomed them in with naïveté, but rather because they looked like they needed help. No one could look at Logan and think him an ordinary person who led a quiet life. “Nate!” she called immediately, summoning her son from his bedroom.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” he asked with concern. “Is Dad—“

“I will send him to you if I can,” Daisy promised Kathryn, referring to her absent husband. She had scribbled a note and handed it to the other woman. “Take this. Do you have a gun?”

“There’s a rifle in the hall closet,” Kathryn answered, pointing. “The ammo is on the top shelf.” She clutched her son to her, but Daisy only had to lend her a small amount of courage—she was a strong woman. “Where should we go?”

Where to go, to escape the destructive tentacles of a multi-national corporation? “New York City,” Daisy replied, and then they were gone from the house.

Kathryn and Nate found themselves in the darkened foyer of a strange house. Suddenly a figure appeared at the top of the stairs, backlit dramatically, possibly wearing a cape, possibly floating. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice booming unnaturally. “How did you get in here?”

Kathryn shrank back from the light and noise, pushing her son behind her. “Daisy sent us,” she replied. “I have a note!”

This seemed a slightly ridiculous thing to say, but the bright figure vanished. “Oh. May I see it?” asked a perfectly normal voice, but Kathryn jumped again, because the man was now standing right beside her. He had piercing blue eyes, hair greying at the temples, and he also wore a dressing gown, though considerably nicer than Kathryn’s.

Shakily she handed him the piece of paper. _Keep them safe_ , it said. _Don’t try to find me. Daisy._

“My apologies,” he said formally. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, welcome to my home.” Kathryn and Nate staggered as they were suddenly zipped before a roaring fireplace in what appeared to be another room. “Have a seat.” The furniture scuttled closer to catch them, blankets enveloped them, and cups of hot tea appeared in their hands.

A dark red cloak darted through the air on its own, settling around Dr. Strange’s shoulders as he fixed his gaze on them, eyes blazing brighter than the fire. “Now, tell me everything,” he requested.

Back in Nebraska, Daisy opened the closet and pulled out the rifle and shells. She had not handled guns much personally—she had little use for them—but knew she could acquit herself adequately if required. Laura appeared beside her silently, having been woken from her sleep by the approach of danger.

“Do you know how to use this?” Daisy asked her, and Laura took the gun from her and loaded it expertly. It seemed nearly as big as she was. “Pierce and his men are here, two trucks out front,” Daisy described matter-of-factly. Laura was better-equipped to handle this situation than most of the people around the dinner table tonight. “They have an adult clone of Logan. I imagine there will be a physical altercation at some point.” It hardly seemed worth the effort to avoid it. “Go up to the roof and keep watch. I would prefer Logan and Will Munson return before the shooting starts.”

Laura glanced around questioningly. “The others—“

“I sent Kathryn and Nate to safety,” Daisy went on. She hated the misunderstandings that could arise from a simple lack of communication. “I will send Will if I can. And Charles.”

Laura nodded solemnly, her questions answered, and headed for the roof. She did not even seem to _think_ about asking Daisy to send _her_ to safety, or Logan. Some people were born—or made—to fight.

Next Daisy went into the guest bedroom, trying to wake Charles gently. She was no expert on telepathy and other mental powers; but Charles had been formidable in his day, and still held considerable firepower though with a diminished ability to leash it—so she understood from Logan. She had to respect that power.

“Charles. Charles, it’s time to go.” He sat up groggily, muttering about the past, people they’d hurt. People were so easily hurt.

Daisy got him into his wheelchair with a bag of his things, without him quite realizing how it had happened. Then his gaze suddenly sharpened. “They’re here.” She didn’t know if he sensed them, or just intuited it from her presence.

“Yes.”

“Laura—“ he began in concern.

“Laura is on the roof with a shotgun,” Daisy informed him dryly, writing another note. “She can handle herself.”

Charles sighed heavily, encompassing the chair, the room, himself. “I can’t keep going,” he admitted.

“Your part in this story has ended, Charles,” Daisy agreed. “I’m sending you somewhere safe. I will see Laura over the border.”

“And Logan?” he asked hopefully.

Daisy’s smile did not reassure him. “Logan will do things on his own terms,” she replied. “That’s what he wants.” Choice had been denied him many times in his life, but he took it fiercely when he could. She thought of his clone then, young, ignorant in many ways, barely touched by the world. His life would be brief, especially compared to hers, but his spirit would be brilliant while it lasted.

She had to stay focused, though. Daisy handed Charles the note. “Goodbye, Charles,” she told him. “Perhaps we will meet again.” It was hard to say, at his age.

In an instant Charles was no longer in the farmhouse in Nebraska but rather an ornate, darkened foyer. Dr. Strange’s automatic projection started to demand Charles’s identity but the doctor cut it off, recognizing his newest visitor.

“Charles Xavier.” They had met before.

“Dr. Strange?” Clearly this was not who Charles was expecting to see. Daisy did love her little surprises. But now they were a thousand miles away from Pierce—Charles saw Kathryn and Nate lurking in a doorway—and if anyone could keep them safe for a while, surely it was the Sorcerer Supreme.

“Daisy sent you?” Dr. Strange surmised, reaching for the folded note Charles carried. She was obviously up to something big. _Two pills every six hours to prevent seizures_ , the note read. A bottle of pills lay forgotten in Charles’s arms. _Can you isolate him telepathically?_

So the rumors were true. The world’s greatest telepath was losing control. Well, they didn’t send the easy cases to Dr. Strange.

“Please, have a seat by the fire, Professor,” Dr. Strange encouraged. “I’ll prepare a room for you.” And do a little research.

In Nebraska, Logan and Will Munson pulled up to the back of the house, having said little on the drive. What was there to say? Just questions Logan didn’t want to answer about how he knew about standing up to bullies, even bullies with guns. Answers Will probably didn’t want to hear anyway. Logan wondered if his actions had made things more difficult for the other man. Then he saw Daisy standing on the back porch and knew they had bigger problems. So what else was new?

They got out of the truck, Logan cracking his neck in anticipation of the fight to come. In some ways it would be a relief; fighting was what he knew, not running and hiding behind people who were too nice for their own good.

Will Munson sensed the change in the air and glanced between Daisy and Logan warily. “You’ve been so kind to us,” Daisy told him before he could speak, her voice lulling and slightly hypnotic. “I’m afraid you may come to regret it. But at least I can send you to safety, for now.” And Will disappeared right before Logan’s eyes.

“What the h—l?!” he sputtered in shock. “Where’d he go?!”

“To a friend,” Daisy answered easily.

Among mutants Logan had seen, such power was extremely rare, and usually the mutant had to travel _with_ their passenger. “You can just _send_ people somewhere?” he went on sharply. “Why the f—k have we been _driving_ for two thousand miles—“

Daisy gave him one of those maddening smiles. “Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination,” she intoned, and Logan scoffed, _hard_.

“You ever get tired of those fortune-cookie sayings?” he snapped. _He_ was getting tired of not knowing what he was up against, including the people supposedly on his side. Daisy didn’t bother to answer, merely watched him with slight amusement. “The others?” he checked, going back into strategic mode.

“Kathryn and her son have gone to safety. I also sent Charles,” she added, watching his reaction.

Logan was, all at once, relieved that Charles was no longer there, guilty for feeling relieved, backpedaling to justify the relief in terms of Charles’s safety, and oddly disappointed that he didn’t get to say goodbye. It was exhausting, and he suspected Daisy sensed every nuance with the fascination of a scientist studying an organism under a microscope. “You tell your friend about the seizures?” he finally decided to say.

“By happy coincidence, my friend is a noted neurosurgeon,” Daisy assured him, “so I think he’ll know what to do.”

Logan could spare no more time on this subject; he had to trust that Daisy had done her part correctly. “Pierce?”

“Out front beyond the driveway. Two trucks, less than a dozen men. Laura is watching them from the roof,” Daisy went on, her tone somehow pointing out that he hadn’t asked about the girl.

“What else?” Logan wanted to know, because less than a dozen fighters did not seem enough to him, even if his bones ached thinking about the pain to come.

“They have an adult clone of you,” Daisy finally revealed, and could not hide a sliver of delight from slipping through. “Adamantium, claws, healing factor, and a semi-feral spirit.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sounds like he’s just your type,” he replied. This fight was going to be _brutal_.

“I’ll have him,” Daisy said, with quiet assurance. “But later. First, we need to disable our pursuers, and continue on to the coordinates—“ She paused, as if listening. “Visitors,” she relayed. “Human, but not entirely innocent. Did you and Will Munson run into trouble?”

Logan growled in frustration. “Local big shots trying to bully him,” he replied succinctly. They thought themselves tough, compared to a decent law-abiding person like Will Munson, but what they were walking into was a whole other level. It was probably the right thing to do, to protect them, even if they were a-----es.

“Well,” Daisy summed up, with rather more satisfaction than Logan thought was appropriate. “The clone’s coming back. This should be interesting.”

**

Mostly Logan slept, bumping along in the back of the truck. He didn’t like giving up control but at some point he had to rest, hoping his healing factor could keep up a little longer. An explosion had stunned Pierce’s men, and his clone—a surreal experience, fighting one’s younger, better self—seemed down for the count thanks to a truck driven by one of the local toughs, but Logan had learned that few people stayed dead. At least, few bad people.

Daisy drove, heading steadily north. Laura chattered about the landscape—apparently she _could_ talk, and had just been giving Logan the silent treatment for two thousand miles. Maybe he preferred the quiet, the time when he could be unconscious and not have people _or_ thoughts intruding upon him.

He awoke in some kind of Tom Sawyer tree fort summer camp play yard, built by steely-eyed mutant children who had escaped their captors in Mexico. Logan was used to steely-eyed mutant children—he had worked at Charles’s school long enough—and knew both their strengths and weaknesses. Aside from him and Daisy, there were no adults present—none who helped them from the research station in Mexico had made it this far.

There was no ‘Eden,’ as Logan suspected, but the children had made their own temporary version, a place to gather everyone up before their final push for the Canadian border. Apparently someone was waiting on the other side for them, someone friendly. If only it were that easy, that crossing a line on the map could make them safe.

“You believe this place?” Logan commented gruffly to Daisy. He had some down time now, as the kids waited for a preset deadline before leaving. He thought they should go _now_ , but obviously he was out-voted by preteens.

“I think it’s nice,” she replied, sipping some tea. “Usually I’m not into the rustic thing, but when in Rome.” She held herself like a queen wherever she was.

“Pierce is coming.” Not right this second, within Logan’s view, but it wasn’t in question.

“Yes,” Daisy agreed. “There will be another confrontation.”

Story of his life. Maybe of his death, also. He just wanted it all to _mean_ something, d----t, to have not been one long slog of blood and pain for nothing. In a way, he supposed Laura was what he left behind, carrying his DNA on into the future. Maybe she would use it more wisely than he had.

**

They called him X-24. Anything could become a name over time, they were just collections of syllables, even if the use of numbers was meant to be dehumanizing, distancing. Clearly Dr. Rice cared for his creation, perhaps only with the pride that comes from great craftsmanship, but that was enough to give him an edge in controlling the weapon. Though X-24 was far more than a mere weapon, no matter how sophisticated. And Daisy had her own edge.

“You know anger and fear and pain, but there are many other things to know,” she told him in the dream-time. She was not trying to be salacious, but his experience was limited, and he sniffed at her the way he did food put in his cage. Food was about the only thing he knew that was marginally positive.

“Your existence here is small, but the world is large,” she continued temptingly. Large, full of bright lights and loud sounds that hurt his senses, full of targets and threats.

Daisy smiled and let him circle her, feeling no danger. “I am neither threat nor target,” she pointed out. “I am neither predator nor prey. What does that make me?”

His rhetorical skills had not gotten much use. The first person who came to mind was Dr. Rice, who was… Dr. Rice. He gave food and rest, he encouraged X-24 in his rampages when others were frightened or disapproving. But he also gave treatments that hurt, set opponents that hurt, gave orders that confused but must be carried out to avoid hurt. Was he predator or prey? Target or threat?

“There can be other things,” Daisy continued. “Things that are nice, that don’t hurt. What makes you feel good?”

He thought of the pool of hot water he soaked in sometimes, after a rampage. It felt good, it eased his pain. His muscles relaxed, his senses became drowsy, which could be fatal but he had never encountered a threat there.

Daisy smiled beatifically. “Then I am your pool of hot water,” she told him, reaching out a gentle hand. She did not try to touch him but rather let him come to her, always testing everything with all his senses first. “I will make you feel good, with no threats.”

He did not yet know enough of life to doubt her, and so he did not. “We will meet again soon,” Daisy promised him. “You will know me.” Then she left him to his short, fitful sleep.

**

Well, things were not looking good. The kids had been run down and captured. Logan was run down as well, after a promising start with that medicine the kids had left for him—it felt good, for the short time it lasted, like the old days, even if he’d only cut down a few stragglers at the back. And Daisy was nowhere to be found. Logan felt sure she had a plan, but without knowing what it was, he had to act on his own.

Guns were not really his thing. A projectile weapon had its uses, but clearly he preferred the more personal approach. Sometimes you just had to go with what was expedient, though, and in this case, that was a bullet in Dr. Rice’s brain. One mad scientist down, thousands more to go.

Pierce yanked open a cage, unleashing Logan’s younger clone. That guy was the bad piece of change you found wherever you went. Logan didn’t like his odds against him, but whatever, this was what he did.

Meanwhile, Daisy stayed out of sight, behind the vehicles. There were a few men left guarding them: they had their virtues, such as loyalty to their comrades and pride in a job well done, even if they were not zealots to the cause. None of them liked Pierce, because he wasn’t a likeable kind of guy. So it was relatively easy to steal into their brains and say, “The job is done. Put your guns down and walk away. Find a bar and have a drink with your friends. You’ve done well.” It was what they were all hoping for at the end anyway, that they would survive to discuss this over a beer. And so they put their guns down and walked away through the trees, back towards the highway. The idea would wear off eventually, but should give the children enough time to escape.

After that she had only to loosen the children’s bonds, let them deal with Pierce how they saw fit. She felt no judgment on that matter, only concern that he did not manage to escape them.

Then it was time to calm the fighting Howlett family—Logan and Laura, ganging up on X-24. Really, X-24 was as much Logan’s son as Laura was his daughter, but Daisy could understand why it didn’t feel that way. Family was who you chose; this connection was merely an accident of DNA. Or rather, a carefully constructed, multi-million-dollar experiment in DNA, but whatever. None of them had asked for this.

“We’re just a couple miles from the border,” Daisy told the children. “Get in that truck, it’s faster to drive.”

“What about Laura?” someone asked. “And the Wolverine?”

“I’ll get them,” Daisy promised, and made her presence felt.

The three beings stopped fighting, not because they wanted to, but because they were compelled to. The resistance of their wills made a pleasant friction, but could not shift Daisy. Claws retracted and injuries took the opportunity to heal, faster in some than in others.

“There’s really no need to keep fighting,” Daisy pointed out sensibly. “Pierce and his men are gone, the children are safe. We should get them to the border.”

“The f—k?” Logan gasped out, staggering back to sit on a log. He wasn’t frozen in place—a trick Magneto and even Charles had used—he could move perfectly well, he just couldn’t go back to fighting. Laura had the same confused, frustrated expression on her face, like she really wanted to throw a temper tantrum but could only stand there placidly, scuffing her shoe in the dirt.

The other guy was the one Logan was worried about, though. Had he really looked that way when he was younger? The guy was built, at least, but way hairier than Logan had expected. He had stamina and viciousness, and strength and speed and a healing factor, but it was obvious he’d had little experience or training, which was all that had saved Logan’s a-s so far (he pointedly did not consider Laura’s intervention). The guy was like a rabid dog, it would surely have been impossible to really train him in anything subtle. But there he stood now, watchful, occasionally snarling, but making no aggressive moves.

“What about _him_?” Logan finally asked Daisy, gesturing weakly towards the clone. Wasn’t _he_ an enemy to keep fighting?

Daisy chose to take his question another way, however. “You’re right, he was also mistreated by Rice and Pierce, and deserves the same asylum as the children,” she responded thoughtfully. Logan was pretty sure exactly _no one_ else had thought about it that way, including the clone. “But I think he needs a more intensive re-education program, don’t you? I’ll take care of it myself.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “I bet you will.” Somehow he didn’t think warning Daisy to be careful with her new, dangerous toy would have any effect at all.

“Get in the truck,” Daisy suggested to Logan and Laura. “The border is close. I’ll watch to be sure you make it.” Her comment had a kind of finality to it, but with Daisy, you never knew when she might turn up again.

“Fine. I’ll drive,” Logan insisted, when Laura beat him to the cab. “I can drive a f-----g truck two miles, _thanks_.” Whatever was waiting for them was supposedly helpful; if they couldn’t take him also—and he didn’t much relish being fussed over by a bunch of do-gooders who wouldn’t dirty their hands enough to come two miles over the border to help out—he supposed his next stop would be New York City, to check on Charles.

Laura stared hard after Daisy as the truck bumped away over the rocky ground, and Daisy raised her hand in farewell. The rest of her rose up slowly into the air as well, so she could watch the vehicle hurtle towards the border. On the other side of the obscure checkpoint were a few people in tidy trenchcoats, bureaucratic warriors who had prepared the proper papers with zeal. She sensed good intentions from them, a lingering pocket of the mutant community who had gone to ground when they realized their kind were no longer being born, and society stopped treating them like a subculture and more like a fading fad.

A rustle in the leaves indicated that X-24 had climbed a tall tree to be closer to her, watching the distant scene with vague interest. Usually anyone he saw, could get to, was a target, with Dr. Rice watching from high above. Now X-24 was high above, and felt like he could decide the fate of those below. Maybe he would allow them to live. That was a novel thought.

Mostly he realized he was hungry, though.

Daisy saw the children, including Laura, physically cross the border to safety, thus fulfilling her mission. Whatever Logan did was up to him. Then she turned her attention to X-24, her gaze speculative. An uninhabited island of pine forest would be suitable for them, perhaps. Phantoms to chase, for exercise and pleasure, but nothing to fight or kill. Daisy was sure he could learn a few new, non-destructive behaviors, in whatever time he had left.

She drifted closer on the breeze and touched his shoulder. “Come on,” she told him. “Let’s go home.” They vanished into the thin air.


End file.
